1.1: Interior, an airport, day. Profile of a business man, hair disheveled, five o’clock shadow spreading across his face, looking up at an old-style motion flap board, the kind that used to show departures and arrivals before we went all digital. The individual placards of the flap board are spinning.
1.2: The flap board has stopped and is displaying this misspelled message:
We can only see the section of the flap board showing “BECSAUE”, so the reader has no idea if there are other words, other puzzles.
1.3: The man, shocked. This is not what he was expecting to see. The individual sections of the flap board are spinning again, erasing the message from before.
1.4: The flap board has stopped again, and now we can see a larger section of it, big enough to display at least three lines so these words, errors, extra spacing and all, can be clearly read:
I CANT LOOK AFTER IT
I CANT LOVE IT
L VE ALL
1.5: The man standing, tears welling up in his eyes. The flap board is spinning again, deleting all the words except “ALL”.
1.6: The man standing before the board, dropping his bag, alone in what should have been a busy airport. The flap board is huge, a monolith towering above him. White light from the huge windows behind the flap board flood the scene. There is no background outside the windows. The flap board is covered with one word repeating into infinity: